Page 87 of Whatever It Takes
Garrison makes the first move. He kicks the tampons at a couple girls and guys, grouped several lockers away. When he swings his head to me, pieces of his hair fall to his eyelashes, and he says, “Blaze.”
Blaze.
FromStreets of Rage,an early nineties video game, she’s one of the strongest female characters in a slew of men. While I don’t have her judo skills or her physique, it’s easy to pretend I’m her when someone pretends with me. And by saying her name, I know Garrison is trying to bolster my confidence.
On our trek from the parking lot to the school this morning, Garrison asked if I’d ever playedStreets of Rage.When I said I did, he told me, “So imagine you’re Blaze and I’m Axel and this hallway—the one we’re going to be walking down—isnothingwe can’t handle.”
“Axel,” I whisper and brush the tampons out of my locker.
I remember the phone call from Rose Calloway—after I spilled tampons accidentally on the street. In front of the world.
I’m not going to be embarrassed.Remember what Rose said.I take a few deep breaths, my stomach twisting in knots.
It’s harder than it sounds.
Garrison says, “Now I wish I had a crowbar.” It’s the go-to weapon inStreets of Rage.
My eyes widen behind my glasses.
“Kidding.” He glares at the cluster of people, just now coming down from their laughing fit. “Sort of.”
I quickly stuff my backpack into my now empty locker, slamming it shut. Just as I turn, I realize that Garrison has left my side. He’s taken a few lengthy strides towards the group, all laughter faded.
I try to grip my backpack strap, only to meet air.
I stand stiffly, more in the middle of the hall. My uniform is as uncomfortable as I feel. I check the state of the bow, like a teacher will yell any second about its off-kilter state.
It looks okay though.
What doesn’t look so great: the scene in front of me.
“That’s not cool,” Garrison tells the shorter girl with dirty blonde hair. I wonder if she’ll have to take out her nose piercing before first period. This thought is trying to trounce the bolder, bigger one that screams,these are his friends.
He approaches them like he knows them. Like he’s talked to them often. Like he’s so familiar with who they are.
The shorter girl pushes out her chest and pulls back her shoulders to gain some height. “You know what’s not cool? Betraying your best friends.” Her eyes redden, and she takes an angrier step forward. The other girl clasps her shoulder. “You should be in there with John! You deserve jail time more than any one of them, and you know it!”
Her friend says, “Carly—”
“Leave me alone.” She swats her hand off her shoulder and then points at Garrison again. I can’t see his features, just the back of his head. He’s unmoving. Even his fingers hang loosely, not curling into a fist. “You’re a piece of shit, Abbey. You’re a piece of shit—and you know it.”
Garrison nears Carly a little more, and she goes still at his closeness. He hangs his head and whispers something to her. In seconds, she breaks down and bursts into tears.
“It’s not fair!” she cries, sinking to the floor. I can only guess that she was close to John, maybe even in a relationship with him.
And I expect Garrison to swivel back towards me.
Am I being presumptuous? To assume that he’d come back?
Because he never does.
I watch him walk past his old friends. Away from me. I watch him disappear alone around a corner. I watch him vanish all together without another word. Without a goodbye.
The bell rings, and I’m left standing immobile in the middle of the hall. People pass around me like nothing occurred.
And I have two choices.
I can go to first period and forget about Garrison. I can act as though this intro to class never happened. Act like everyone else.Forget about him, Willow Moore.
